


Keep the Time

by starwatersong



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Coffee Shops, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17077574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwatersong/pseuds/starwatersong
Summary: This work was written for Phandom fic Fests Holiday Exchange 2018 for PartlyCharlie! The original prompt was: Dan and Phil in a band.Dan, still recovering from a rough break-up, works in a coffee shop by day and plays in a band with his friend PJ at night. The problem is they've never had a gig and they need a new drummer. Dan meets Phil and finds much more than the drummer they're looking for.





	Keep the Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partlycharlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partlycharlie/gifts).



> This was really fun to write (as obviously the length got away from me!) No smut, but there is swearing (Hey, it's Dan). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and feel free to leave kudos and comments below.

_“That’s what a drummer is supposed to do._  
_Keep the time._  
_If you can do something beside that, fine.  
But the time is essential.”_

_-Elvin Jones_

 “This isn’t working, Dan,” said PJ, setting down the guitar abruptly. “Our sound…”

“We sound great,” replied Dan, letting his fingers fall on the keyboard with a discordant jumble of notes. “What are you talking about, Peej?” The small room was a mess, with insulation tiles scattered on all four walls and various instruments of different quality splayed about, including an ocarina and a recorder. A drum set sat, untouched in the corner, shoved next to an overstuffed, old couch. Crumpled sheet music with scribbled, almost incomprehensible notes on them lay on different surfaces of the room, some half-covered with empty glasses and mugs.

“We sound good, but we don’t sound like enough,” said PJ with a frown, collapsing on a green folding chair. “We sound like a guy with a keyboard and a guy with a guitar.”

“We _are_ two guys with a keyboard and a guit-”

“We don’t sound like a real band, Dan!” PJ interrupted, throwing his pick into a ratty faux fur-lined case. “We need another member. Maybe even two. A drummer, for sure.”

Dan frowned, his hand running through his haphazard curls. “We used the computer for that before in practice, PJ. We can just do it again.” He ran his fingers over the keyboard again, mindlessly touching keys and pressing them lightly, his eyes trained on the chords. He could feel PJ staring at him.

“What’s the dream, Dan?” PJ asked softly. He stretched out perilously on the old metal chair, leaning towards Dan. “What’s the dream we’ve always had?”

“To perform for an audience,” answered Dan automatically, “To be a real band.” He glanced up, meeting PJ’s gaze for a split second before returning his attention to the keys in front of him.

“That’s right,” said PJ, sitting back on the creaking chair. “To perform in front of screaming fans. To perform _our_ music. And to do that, we need a proper drummer,” continued PJ. He could see Dan stiffen, hunched over his Yamaha keyboard. “Dan, you’re going to have to-”

“Look, I have to go,” said Dan, unfolding his tall frame from the small metal chair kept in front of the keyboard for practices. “I’m working in twenty. Can we talk about it later, PJ?”

“Yeah,” said PJ with a sigh. “Leave your keyboard here. I’ve got some editing to do for work but later tonight we can practice again.”

“Thanks, Peej. Can you maybe pick a song that avoids the intense use of rolled chords this time?” Dan asked, his voice returning to normal as he grabbed his leather jacket and slid it over his shoulders. “You’re killing my wrists.”

“Only if you do me a favour, and think about it,” said PJ. “It’s been eight months.”

“Just leave it, Peej,” said Dan, his brown eyes cold. He pulled the door open, letting a blast of wintry November air into the garage. “Tell Sophie hi for me, right?”

PJ gave a final sigh as he watched as his brown-haired friend stepped out the door and walked away. PJ didn’t know what Gemma was up to now, but she still had a lot to answer for.

***

“Grande quad skinny one-pump caramel mocha for Sarah?” said Dan sliding the drink onto the counter. He inwardly grimaced. Four shots of espresso? Sarah must be having a tough one today. A girl stood up from a table covered in papers and a laptop and grabbed the drink, muttering a rough thanks.

 _Must be exam season,_ thought Dan, wiping up the small drips that had been left on the counter. The Manchester Starbucks was filled with its usual mixture of students, people with babies and toddlers, and business folk who had settled in for the day with their laptops and briefcases. It amused Dan to watch them stand up and shake hands with people who came in, holding interviews and making deals.

Finally, the room was kept slightly colder by hurried young people wearing tight collars and cheap business clothes throwing open the door, ordering ten coffees, and awkwardly trying to carry all of them out the door at once while letting in chilled blasts of air into the crowded café.

 _That could have been me,_ Dan thought. _That is, if I had managed to get through all three years of my law degree._ Dan had tried to find a balance between his love of the piano and his desire to do what he felt he was supposed to do. What his parents had wanted him to do. What _Gemma_ had wanted him to do.

He could remember her exact tone when he told her that he planned to drop out.

_***_

“So that’s the plan,” Dan said, “I filled out my form. I’m going to send it to the registrar tomorrow.” He looked at Gemma, still unable to read her after three years of dating. “Gemma? Gem?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dan,” she said quietly, still looking at his letter. Her long dyed pink hair covered her eyes. “You realize, this messes up our whole plan?”

“Our plan?” asked Dan mystified. “What-”

“We were going to finish university. Settle down. You said you would be there for me. How are we supposed to have kids and a house on a musician’s salary? I mean, if there even ends up being a salary at all.”

“Gemma,” said Dan, stung. “What are you on about? I’m going to work at Starbucks for a little longer, raise some money, but I’ll have a lot more time.” He tried to pull her closer, but she shrugged away from him, still avoiding his eyes. He tried to brush her hair away with his hand, but she grabbed his hand and held it.

“You know I love you, baby. I like drumming, and I love Tandem. But I thought it was a hobby. Something fun to do while you get through your law degree and I get through business. Before we settle down for good.” She turned to face him, a tear falling from her eye onto his screen. “Why did I come to Manchester for you? Why would you throw it all away?”

“I can’t do it anymore, Gem. I can’t go to the soulsucking building every day. I can feel it killing every bit of creativity in me,” Dan said desperately, holding her hand and pleading for her to understand.

“It’s been two years, Dan. Two years. Are you really not willing to do it? To spend one more year on it? To give it a try?” Gemma took hold of his other hand, pulling him closer to her on the couch, and looked into his eyes. He rubbed his thumb on the soft brown skin of her hands. “Not even for me?”

“And then what, Gem?” he asked.

“Then, baby,” she said, smiling in that way she knew he liked. “Then,” she said, touching her lips to his hands softly. “You work for a few years there, get a permanent position, we buy a house, move out of this place, and we get married. And then we’ll have more free time. We could have a basement, invite people over. It’ll be easier to have a band.”

“You, of all people, should know how much this means to me, Gemma. You bought me my keyboard. You know what I want to do. Saving up for a house and getting a position... I can’t spend ten years like that,” said Dan, looking into her warm brown eyes.

“I thought they were just dreams, Dan. Just, you know, talk,” she replied, dropping his hands suddenly. “In real life, people don’t do that. Professional musicians play for years and some of them never find success. A lot of those musicians are more talented and have a lot more experience than you and me.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can watch you throw your life away, Dan.”

Dan stood up, letting his laptop slide to the ground. “What are you saying, Gemma?”

“I’m saying you can chase your dreams if you want to, Dan,” she said, standing up, straightening her hair, and smoothing the bottom of her top. “Just don’t expect me to be there waiting.” She leaned down to him, kissing his cheek.

“Are you quitting the band, too? Are you quitting Tandem?’ asked Dan, not resisting the kiss.

“This is exactly why we would have never worked out. Goodbye, Dan,” she said, picking up her purse. “And good luck. I really hope I’m wrong about you.”

***

“Excuse me?” Dan blinked, coming out of his reverie. “Where’s the sugar?” Dan pointed wordlessly and the woman nodded her thanks. _Snap out of it, Danny boy,_ he told himself. _Four more hours left._

Forty-five minutes until close and the place was finally empty. Dan was wiping tables and putting up the chairs. The door jingled and he looked up to see a tall guy, almost as tall as Dan, enter. He walked up to the counter, pulling off his black framed glasses and rubbing his woolen scarf on them to get rid of the fog. He reached in the tan leather bag he had slung over his shoulder pulling out a sheaf of papers, a jumble of keys, and finally a wallet.

“May I help you?” asked Dan, walking towards the counter. He was the last one left at close and his coworkers had left about an hour ago.

“No hurry if you want to finish up there,” said the man, gesturing to the unstacked chairs. Dan was surprised at the deep timbre of the man’s voice. _Sounds like low C,_ he thought. _Beautiful tone._

“I’m just trying to get ahead of close,” said Dan, awkwardly, stepping behind the counter. “There’s no hurry. We’re open until 9.”

“Good,” said the man, “I have a few papers I’d like to finish up before I go home. You’re sure I’m okay to do them here? I won’t be in the way?” Dan caught the man’s eyes and was surprised at how at how blue they were.

“No problem for me,” he said, switching into Starbucks mode. “Can I take your order?”

“Oh, of course,” said the man, running his hand through his black quiff. “A… caramel macchiato, I guess. I want to say large--”

“Grande. But the macchiato only comes in one size. Don’t worry, I knew what you meant,” Dan said with a smile, grabbing a cup. “Not everyone has to speak Starbucks like we do. Can I get your name?”

“I’m Phil. Nice to meet you,” said the tall man, looking like he was deciding whether to reach his slender hand over the counter to shake Dan’s.

“Uh… we just need it for the cup,” said Dan, gesturing with the sharpie he was holding at the cup.

“Ignore me, bit dim here,” said Phil, looking flustered. “Can I set up anywhere? Thanks, by the way. I try not to bring too much work home.”

“Sit anywhere. I’ll bring it out to you,” said Dan, already turning to work on the drink. His face was flushed. He focused on making the drink. He took his time and carefully drizzled caramel in a grid pattern on the top. _Perfect,_ he thought. _Surprising, considering I’ve been here for eight hours tonight._ He held the drink carefully and walked over to the table that was covered by a surprising amount of papers.

Phil sat at the table, his overcoat draped on the chair behind him. Underneath, he was wearing some black trousers, and a simple blue button up shirt that wasn’t fully buttoned. He was looking at a stapled collection of papers that brought Dan rushing back to the unpleasant feeling of overdue assignments and essays.

“Excuse me… Phil?” he said softly, not wanting to scare him.

Phil, took off his glasses and turned from the paper with a smile. “Don’t worry, I really just started reading that paper. I was so interested in watching you make my drink. Have you been a barista for a long time?”

“Too long,” said Dan with a wry smile. “Three or four years.”

“Well, you’re good at it,” said Phil. “I’m impressed,” his eyes flicked to the name badge, “Daniel, right?”

“I go by Dan,” Dan said with a shrug. “What are you working on here?”

“Meteorology reports,” Phil said, picking up one of the typewritten sheets and holding it towards Dan. “I’m a postgraduate student at The Centre for Atmospheric Science at the University of Manchester. But it involves T.A. work for one of the professors.”

Dan leaned in, feeling the warmth of Phil’s hand before taking the proffered sheet. “‘The unit can be read in dynes per square centimetre, millibars, standard atmospheres, or kilopascals…’“ Dan read out loud. “Yikes. Are they all like that?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Phil, making a face. “These are mostly by freshers, though, so it’s pretty basic stuff. Not exactly what I expected when I took this up.”

“What did you think meteorology was?” asked Dan, curiously, handing back the neatly-stapled bundle of pages.

“I thought it was holding a microphone, wearing a tie, and talking about the rain,” said Phil. “But in my defense, I was eight.”

Dan laughed. “Never the way we think it’s going to be. I was in law, myself.”

“Was?” Phil raised his eyebrow and pulled his drink towards him and nestling it in his hands. He took a sip from the cup.

 _Big hands_ , thought Dan, before replying. “I took law at the same university. Wasn’t a good fit.” He nodded at the drink. “Had too many dreams of barista-hood.”

Phil laughed. “I’m not surprised. This is delicious.”

“Too sweet for me,” said Dan, making a face.

“I never mind too sweet. Everyone needs a little sweet in their life, Dan.” Phil took a second sip and winked at Dan with an infectious smile.

_Did I just see that? Am I reading too much into it?_

“Um… I should get back to work,” said Dan. “And let you go back to yours.”

“Oh, of course,” said Phil, blinking. “I guess I should get these marked.”

But as Dan walked away he thought, _Was that a note of disappointment I caught in his voice?_ All Dan knew was that he could feel the faint twinge of something he thought was gone months ago. He went back behind the counter to grab the broom. _And take a moment to get yourself together, Dan,_ he told himself.

Phil with his preppy button-down look wasn’t Dan’s type at all. In the first few months after his break up, when he was finding company to keep at night, it had been anyone not looking for anything serious. Mostly rock fans like himself. Anything to try to make himself feel something. But it hadn’t worked.

Eventually, Dan had tired of the empty evenings and realized he would rather be alone. He hadn’t missed the strangers. He hadn't felt that spark of excitement that filled him when he met someone special in years. Someone new.

At least, not until now.

***

They both worked in relative silence for about twenty minutes. Dan, wiping counters, refilling dispensers, and trying not to stare. Phil, rifling through papers with a frown on his face and making scribbled notes with a bright green pen.

Eventually Dan noticed that Phil was humming to himself as he reread some of the pages.

 _Good tone,_ Dan thought in surprise. _He’s probably got a lovely singing voice._ It was hard to hear behind the counter. Dan looked around and grabbed a nearby broom. _I’ve got to sweep anyhow,_ he told himself. _Might as well get it done now._

Phil was now rhythmically tapping his pen on the table and continuing to him. He paused to jot an additional note on the sheet and then resumed the tune. Dan was impressed by the speed and rhythm that Phil was tapping out. He worked his way towards Phil, barely grazing the dust on the floor with his broom.

 _I’ve heard this before,_ he thought. _But where? God, he’s fast._

Phil’s tapping intensified, clearly moving towards a climax of a song. The T.A. mindlessly grabbed the pencil next to him and began fully drumming on the table while absently still humming.

“ _Assassin_ _!_ ” Dan suddenly called out, causing Phil to emit a high-pitched noise and drop both writing utensils. The pencil fell to the floor and the sound of it rolling on the ever-so-slightly slanted floor was deafening in the resulting silence.

“I’m so sorry,” said Dan. He dove for the pencil at the same time as Phil and let the broom clatter to the floor. They almost collided heads under the table and Dan could smell a distinct whiff of vanilla and spice of some sort from Phil’s hair as it brushed across his face.

Both came up red-faced and awkwardly laughing. “I guess I won,” said Phil, holding up the pencil before setting it next to the pen. His glasses were crooked on his face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dan mumbled. “I just meant the song was _Assassin_. By Muse, right?”

“Oh dear,” said Phil, adjusting his glasses. “I was doing it again, wasn’t I? That’s why I try to get my marking done before I get home. It drives my flatmates mad. But yeah, it was _Assassin_ . From _Black Holes and Revelations_.”

“You’re a Muse fan?” asked Dan, intrigued.

“For years,” said Phil, his attention on rearranging the pencil and pen. “I went to see them during the Resistance Tour.”

“Really?” asked Dan.

“No need to sound so surprised,” said Phil. “I know I don’t look that cool.”

“No, I just mean… I was there, too. 2010, right? We could have been at the same concert,” said Dan, scrambling. “And I don’t know you that well, but that drumming was pretty cool to me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Phil with a grimace. He picked up the pencil and started to twirl it again. “It’s a bad habit I can’t break. I just get fidgety and don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

“I think it was brilliant. _Assassin_ is such a ridiculously hard song. I’d love to hear more of it.” Phil looked up, his blue eyes round in surprise. At that moment, Dan realized that he was standing there, reeking of hours of work and old coffee, the broom at his feet, and still wearing his Starbucks apron. “I shouldn’t be bothering you. Just... your tapping, drumming, whatever you want to call it… is fine. More than fine.” He picked up the broom and starting sweeping the ground, positioning himself to move away from Phil, give him some space.

A small smile twitched on Phil’s face. He picked up the pencil and pen. “Hey Dan,” he called, pointing at the speaker in the ceiling. “Do you happen to have any Muse on that Starbucks music track?

”***

Dan watched, transfixed, as the well-built man pounded on the table using two large metal spoons, courtesy of Starbucks. _Glorious_ by Muse played out of the tinny speakers of Dan’s iPhone, almost overwhelmed by the cacophony of the man drumming in front of it.

No, not cacophony. For Dan, it was poetry.

Phil finished the song with a flourish, then looked up at Dan with a wide smile on his face. “You’re going to get complaints from your neighbours,” he said, grinning.

“Worth it. They’re probably all closed right now anyway,” said Dan. “Ever try that one on an actual kit?”

“Just once,” said Phil. “My cousin’s friend let me borrow his after I kept going on about it. I tried a few Muse songs. My ankle killed from the foot pedalling, though.” He stretched, his lanky form drawing Dan’s eye.

_Focus, Dan._

“If you wanted to,” Dan said, picking up one of the two spoons and pretending to examine it, “My friend has a kit nearby here. It's not a brand new one, but we could maybe play some Muse together sometime. I mean, if you wanted to. If you didn’t, no worries, mate.”

“I’d love to,” replied Phil simply. “Shall we exchange numbers so we can meet up?” This wasn't Dan's first time getting a number from someone in the Starbucks. But this time, it felt different. _Phil_ felt different. And he was excited to see where it would go.

 _For the band. For Tandem_ , he told himself. He picked up his phone from the table and realized he had received five, no, _six_ texts from PJ.

PJ [9:35]: I’ve got your lady plugged in and ready to go over here.  
PJ [9:37]: How was work today?  
PJ [9:42]: We’re ordering an Indian takeaway. Want anything?  
PJ [9:50]: DAN?  
PJ [9:57]: If you've fallen asleep again…  
PJ [10:23]: Takeaway is eaten. Tandem is a solo act. I’m keeping your Yamaha.

“Bloody buggering fuck!” Dan exclaimed, looking at the time. “It’s 10:30! I’m late!”

“10:30?” asked Phil, surprised. “Oh wow, I’m sorry. Friday night and you closed ages ago. I’ve been keeping you here. I’m so sorry, Dan.”

Dan typed furiously into his phone.

Dan [10:31]: don’t touch my girl. sorrysorrysorry. explain later. still want me to come?

“I was supposed to meet a friend,” said Dan, quickly gathering up the debris on the table. Phil reached forward to help, grabbing a cup at the same time as Dan. Their hands touched, Phil’s fingers warm against his, and Dan drew back his hand as if he was stung.

“Sorry,” said Phil, looking as though Dan had slapped him. “Sorry,” he repeated. Dan immediately stopped what he was doing. Phil was flushed and his hand was frozen above the table.

“Here,” said Dan, closing the text messages and passing his phone to Phil. “I still want your number. If that’s okay with you. I’d love to play some music with you some time.” He was relieved to see the warm smile spread over Phil’s face. Phil took a small step towards him and Dan could feel the tension between them fade to what it had been before.

“Of course,” said Phil, taking the iPhone. Dan took the chair from behind Phil and stacked it, swept the rest of the trash off the table while avoiding Phil’s pile of papers, and brought the rubbish behind the counter. He tossed it in the mostly empty bin. He surveyed the area. Everything looked pretty much done except for the lights and the door that needed to be locked. He grabbed the keys and his bag, turning off the lights.

He came out and Phil’s bag was already packed. “I put my number in,” said Phil, his face turned away. “I’ll let you go now. Sorry for taking up your time.”

 _What happened?_ thought Dan. Phil’s warm smile was gone and Dan watched as he briskly walked towards the door. “It was no problem, Phil,” he said, trying to jam words in before the tall teaching assistant left. “Really. I’ll text you. Let’s get together some time and play.”

“It was nice meeting you, Dan. Either way, if you don’t have time, don’t worry about it. I still had fun tonight,” Phil’s sad smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He opened the door, walked out into the cold November night and away from Dan’s life.

Dan stood there for a second. He could feel the weight of what had happened hit him and he sighed, feeling deeply disappointed and not quite understanding why. The soft vibration of his phone brought him back to reality. He picked it up on the table where Phil had left it. There were two notifications at the top of the screen.

PJ [10:35]: Come anyway. Don’t worry, I still love you. :P  
PJ [10:39]: See you soon, you dork. The light’s on.

Dan snorted, and swiped them away. He was relieved to see Phil’s number on the contact screen below them. A wave of comprehension hit Dan. The first notification. Where PJ declared his love. That would have appeared at the top of the screen while Phil held his phone.

“Oh shit,” he said out loud, dropping his keys. He stood there blinking. And, as he picked up the keys, he realized that that wasn’t the real question wasn’t why did he care that Phil had seen that text.

The real question was, why did _Phil_ care?

***

Dan [12:35]: hi phil? its dan  
Dan [12:36]: from starbucks on friday?

Dan stood by his fridge, staring at the phone and cringing. Ugh… “Dan from Starbucks.” Should he have used capitals and punctuation? Phil was kind of a professor. Would he think Dan, the drop out, was an idiot?

 _Phil’s not like that,_ he thought, fiddling with the knob on the ancient toaster. _He won’t care. It’s only you who cares, Dan._ Dan had been thinking about contacting Phil for two days.

Phil [12:38]: How could I forget that caramel macchiato?  
Phil [12:38]: Sorry for the delay; I was looking up how to spell “macchiato.” Doesn’t look at all how it’s spelled.  
Dan [12:38]: italian, right? glad you liked it. they call me the king of baristas  
Phil [12:39]: Do they?  
Dan [12:39]: no but they should. even today on my day off.  
Phil [12:39]: I would. <crown emoji>

Dan paused, nervous. He had been thinking for the last two days on how to word this, including all through work on Saturday. He hadn’t figured out any clever way, so he decided to just come out with it. _Here goes_ , he thought.

Dan [12:40]: so my friend pj has a drum kit. he lives with his gf in a basement appt and they have soundproofing

There was a long pause. Dan wondered what Phil was thinking.

Phil [12:42]: Oh?  
Dan [12:42]: yeah. he's gone to his parents today and gave me the key. are you busy today?

Another long pause. Dan started pacing, feeling the unevenness of the cheap linoleum beneath his feet. Had he read him wrong? This wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

Phil [1:44]: How could I say no to the king?

***

Dan was back to pacing. He had already changed his shirt twice, for no reason he was willing to justify to himself. It turned out that he and Phil lived surprisingly close to each other. Maybe it wasn't so surprising. After all, they had both needed to commute to the University of Manchester at one point or another.

The plan was that Phil would come and pick him up and they would walk together to PJ's. Dan waited for the irritating buzzer that would indicate that someone was downstairs. _Maybe I should just walk down the three flights and meet him there. Would that be too eager?_ His thought was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Dan’s eye widened, surprised by the sound. _Was Phil_ here _?_

Dan quickly undid the locks and there was Phil, standing awkwardly in front of the door. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” said Phil. “Your neighbour insisted she let me in once she knew I was here to meet you. I carried four carrier bags of groceries up.” Dan barely heard Phil as he stared at him. Phil was wearing a navy knitted jumper that fit him perfectly and a pair of black skinny jeans. He was still wearing the black framed glasses that Dan had seen him in on Friday. Dan was glad. They suited him.

“Dan? Can I come in?” asked Phil, with a little more uncertainty. “I need to use your...”

“Sorry, of course. I didn’t mean to… yes, come in,” Dan finally replied. Phil walked into the small flat from the corridor. Dan saw him taking in the flat and he wondered what Phil was thinking. “Down on the left,” he pointed to Phil. Phil nodded his thanks. Dan started rearranging things on the counter and then gave up almost immediately. He sank down on the flowered sofa, picking at his fingernails.

After a few minutes, Phil returned with a smile at Dan. “Sorry about that. One too many coffees this morning already. None as good as the one you made me Friday, though.”

“Sorry about my neighbour. She means well. And sorry I pulled you away from what you planned on doing today,” said Dan, looking up at Phil.

Phil immediately laughed, covering it with a cough. “I shouldn’t laugh. I’m not…” He shifted on his feet. “I don’t have a lot of people I hang out with. My flatmates are dating and mostly keep to themselves. I mean,” he touched the fabric of the couch, averting his eyes. “I hang out with my brother sometimes. And I have some people that I eat lunch with at work. But no, you weren’t keeping me from anything today.”

“Their loss is my gain,” said Dan, sending an encouraging smile in Phil’s direction.

Phil cleared his throat and looked around the room. “So, this is your place?” he asked.

There was a big pause while Dan tried to figure out how to answer that question.

“Yes,” he said finally. “This is my flat.”

“Do you live here by yourself?” asked Phil, finally sitting next to Dan on the couch. “And did it come furnished?”

“Yes, just me. And no,” said Dan. “It didn’t come furnished.” He could see Phil glancing at Dan in his simple all black ensemble and then taking in the crowded one bedroom flat with its overstuffed floral couch. His gaze fell on the light wood country-style dining table, the pastel paintings on the wall, and the kitschy handwritten paint in the kitchen that said, “ _Where there is love in the home, there is joy in the heart.”_

“When did you break up?” Phil asked finally.

“Less than a year ago after a three year relationship. Turns out there wasn’t a lot of love from her in the home after all,” said Dan, getting up and grabbing his leather jacket.

“I’m sorry,” said Phil simply. “She left everything?”

“She took all the good stuff,” said Dan. “Everything that was worth something and meant something, I guess. I keep meaning to redecorate. Or move. Anyhow, want to head out, Phil? PJ’s isn’t far from here and I’m ready to play some Muse.”

“Sure,” said Phil, accepting Dan’s desire to change the topic. “But just so you know, Dan...” He stood up and walked towards the door. “...I really don’t think she took the good stuff.”

***

Phil finished with a flourish, twirling the sticks and then immediately dropping both.

“Oops,” he said, leaning down to pick them up. “I drop them every time and you’d think that would stop me from doing it in the future.”

Dan had been worried that someone playing the drums in this basement would unearth memories that he would prefer to not disturb. But with Phil, it was completely different. His style was utterly unlike any of the drummers Dan had ever known, including Gemma. The tall man should have been clumsy behind the drum kit, but just wasn’t. Sure, you could tell he wasn’t professionally trained, but he had a simplicity and a joie de vivre that a lot of drummers were missing. He glowed while he was playing and Dan couldn’t look away. _Fortunately, I’m trying to impress him or I would have missed about a hundred notes,_ thought Dan ruefully.

“Another?” asked Phil, smiling. “My calves are killing me, and it’s the most exercise I’ve had in months, but it’s worth it. You’re amazing, by the way. How’d you get so good?”

“I’m okay,” said Dan, self-consciously. “I had some formal lessons for a while, but it didn’t work out. I mostly learned from YouTube videos, so it’s a little rough.”

“You wouldn’t know it,” said Phil earnestly, stretching his leg out. “You’re great. So, how long have you and PJ been playing for?”

“A few years. I met him when I was at the University of Manchester,” said Dan.

“For law, right?” nodded Phil.

“Law was just an excuse to move from my shitty home town,” said Dan. “It never was a passion.”

“Then what exactly is your passion, Dan?” asked Phil casually, looking down at the drums and adjusting the tension of one of the keys.

 _Does he mean it the way he asked it?_ wondered Dan. He decided it was safest to take the comment at face value. “Playing like this. In front of an audience,” he said. “That’s the dream. Getting paid would be a bonus.”

“Ever done it?” asked Phil, looking up. “For real?”

“Almost once,” said Dan. “We were booked at a small party. Maybe thirty people.”

“Almost?” Phil raised an eyebrow.

“Well, we had to cancel because our drummer dumped me the night before,” said Dan. “Side effect of us wanting different things, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” said Phil.

“Probably for the best,” said Dan. “But it took me a long while to figure that out. But still, the dream lived on.”

“Is it normally just you and PJ now? His girlfriend doesn’t play?”

“Yeah,” said Dan. “But,” he fiddled with his Yamaha’s keys. “PJ’s been talking about getting more members. A guitar and a keyboard might need a fuller sound.”

“Oh?” said Phil. “A drummer?” He attempted to twirl the sticks again and dropped both.

“Every time!” said Dan, with a laugh.

“Told you; I can’t resist,” said Phil, picking up the sticks for the tenth time.

“And yes, a drummer. Are you interested?” asked Dan, his heart beating quickly. He and Phil had spent the whole afternoon talking and playing. Mostly Muse songs, but Phil also was keen to play songs from old video games. He seemed perfect. And Dan would love to have him join up with their band, for more than one reason. But would a teaching assistant from a university even be interested?

“If PJ’s okay with it, I’d love to,” said Phil. “but I don’t want to cause any problems.”

“Oh God,” said Dan with a dramatic eye roll. “PJ will more than thrilled.”

***

PJ was. But he was also confused. Dan could see it in his eyes.

“Look, he’s great, PJ,” said Dan. “He’s really good.”

“He must be,” PJ said. “I can’t remember the last time you _called_ me on the phone. Where did this guy come from, Dan?”

“We met on Friday. We talked for a few hours in Starbucks. And we spent the whole afternoon playing today. He’s amazing, Peej.”

“He’s not there right now, is he?” asked PJ

“No,” said Dan, guiltily. “He’s out getting us coffees.”

“So, he’s going to be there when I get home,” said PJ. “Is this about… do you…” He sighed. “Do you like him, Dan? _Like him,_ like him?”

“It’s not like that,” muttered Dan. “He’s a good drummer.”

“Daniel James Howell, we have been friends for years,” said PJ. “Years! I know very well when you have a crush on someone. Especially a drummer.”

“Do you have a problem with it?” asked Dan, somewhat stiffly. PJ had known about Dan being interested in both genders for a long time. But knowing and seeing it in action could be very different things.

“Of course I might have a problem with it!” burst out PJ. “You almost wrecked this band once with your romantic issues. How are you going to prevent it from happening again?”

Dan was relieved, but he could understand PJ’s concerns. “Look, Peej, you’ve been trying to get me to pick a new drummer for six months. Are you willing to give this a shot?”

PJ sighed audibly on the line. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Not really,” said Dan, beaming into the phone. “See you in an hour.”

“He’d better be good,” came the voice down the phone.

“He is,” said Dan, smiling. Whatever else, he could promise that.

***

“Damn it,” murmured PJ, watching Phil play.

“No good?” asked Dan in disbelief. Phil was playing along with _Stockholm Syndrome_ , which was blaring out of PJ’s little Bluetooth speaker. Dan had to raise his voice to speak to PJ, as Phil was enthusiastically whaling on the older drum set. Phil was perfectly on beat, even adding his own flourishes and additions to the already challenging track.

“No,” said PJ. “He’s great. Can he play something other than Muse?” His foot tapped unwillingly to the beat.

“Uh, I haven’t tried to get him to play a lot of other things,” said Dan, watching Phil drum. “He can play with the _Final Fantasy VII_ soundtrack.”

“ _Final Fantasy?_ ” PJ glanced over at Dan and groaned in despair. “More importantly, how far gone are you?”

“I don’t even know if he’s interested,” said Dan, defensively. “He might not even like guys.”

“He went from professor to joining a band in less than three days. He’s interested, believe me.” At that, PJ got up and stopped the track. Phil twirled a drumstick and immediately dropped it. He flushed red and started talking to PJ. Dan couldn’t quite catch all the conversation but he saw Phil nod agreeably. PJ came back and settled on the rickety chair next to Dan. Dan watched his friend fiddle with his iPod and, after a moment, _Down with the Sickness_ came blasting out.

 _Shit_ , Dan blanched. _PJ is not playing games._ But Phil didn’t even pause. They both sat in silence watching Phil play for another two minutes.

“Damn it,” PJ repeated.

***

“Are you sure I was okay?” asked Phil, still flushed with pleasure, even in the chill November air.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Dan. “You were brilliant. And it’s not just me who thinks so. PJ’s got a degree in Music. He knows his shit. And he thought you were phenomenal.”

“Does he?” said Phil. “What does he do now?”

“Mostly classical music lessons,” said Dan. “Lots of little kids learning guitar, too. Whatever it takes to pay the bills, right?”

“Right,” said Phil, looking at Dan. He tripped and Dan reached to grab him by the shoulder.

“All right?” asked Dan.

“Sorry, two left feet,” Phil murmured, regaining his balance.

Phil’s shoulder was warm even through his jacket. At that moment, Dan realized he had been touching Phil for more time than strictly necessary. “How can someone be such a klutz but so coordinated on drums?” ask Dan, removing his hand and putting it in his pocket.

“It’s a medical mystery,” said Phil brightly, dusting off his jeans. “Or maybe I’m an alien.” He wiggled two fingers above his head. “Bleep bloop.”

“Do you need to hurry to get home?” asked Dan, abruptly. “We could stop for a hot chocolate. But if someone is waiting or something…” he trailed off awkwardly.

Phil turned to face him. “I told you,” he stated. “I don’t really have many friends. Friends of any kind. So, no one’s waiting, Dan. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I love a good festive drink, even in November.”

“I have to be honest with you, Phil…” blurted out Dan, looking at the ground, at his feet, at the closed shop windows -- anywhere but Phil’s earnest blue eyes.

“Dan,” said Phil, interrupting him. “Let’s go get a hot chocolate. You can be honest with me inside. Where it’s warm.” Dan nodded and headed down the street. Whatever he had to say could wait.

He just needed the courage to say it.

***

“Gingerbread hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, whipped cream, _and_ toffee?” asked Dan in disbelief. “How do you still have teeth?”

“It’s delicious,” said Phil. “Enjoy your boring one.”

“Marshmallows and dark chocolate aren’t boring,” said Dan, defensively, settling back in the cushy seat. “They’re classic.” He looked with interest around the small café. Despite the fact it was only late November, they already had Christmas decorations up as well as a small fireplace. The place was pretty empty, given the late hour, and they had this cosy section to themselves.

“Do you feel like you’re cheating on Starbucks?” asked Phil amused at Dan’s scrutiny. He wiped whipped cream off his upper lip with the napkin and Dan stifled a smile.

“This is more my style anyhow. Look at this real mug,” he tapped on the floral china. “No name or anything. Less corporate,” he shrugged. “But probably worse hours. Starbucks offers flexible hours. Important if you’re in a growing band.” They both sipped their drinks quietly for a bit. _Not bad_ , thought Dan. He had seen the barista sprinkle a small pinch of salt in his hot chocolate which really brought out the taste of the dark chocolate. He made a mental note to try it at Starbucks.

 _Enough with the hot chocolate. Rip the plaster off, Dan_ , he thought to himself. _Do it already._

He had decided. It wasn’t fair to have Phil join the band and not know Dan’s feelings. He felt like he’d be, well, _taking advantage_ of the sheltered teaching assistant by not making his intentions clear before Phil was going to spend so much time with him. _Plus if he finds out later, he might think I only invited him to join the band because I was into him,_ Dan thought. _He already doesn’t seem to have a lot of confidence. I can’t do that to him._

“I’m not straight, Phil,” he said, setting down his cup. Phil looked up and watched him with a steady gaze. “You can say bi or pan or queer or whatever. I don’t. I’m not much of a label person. But I know I’m not straight.”

“Okay,” said Phil slowly, picking his words carefully. “Thank you for telling me, Dan.” They sat in silence for a moment.

 _Did I fuck it up?_ wondered Dan. The easy companionship throughout the day and the evening seemed to fade, reminding Dan that Phil was a relative stranger. _I might be an idiot. A shared interest in Muse and video games does not a love interest make._

“I know it’s not easy,” said Phil, interrupting Dan’s thoughts. “Coming out, I mean. When I told my mum,” Phil took a sip of his drink and swallowed. “It was ...strange for a while. I knew she loved me and that wasn’t going to change. And she knew I loved her. But still. It was strange.” He lowered the spoon, tapping it absentmindedly on the table. “I could see my dad looking at me differently. He still does, I think. But Martyn never really changed. That’s my brother.”

Dan sat there looking at Phil, surprised. “Mine still don’t really believe me,” said Dan. “I told them, but…then I went with a girl for three years. I overheard my dad telling my mum it must have been ‘just a phase.’ Like it didn’t count because I was in a straight relationship,” he laughed bitterly. “Only PJ really gets it.”

“Were you and he…?” asked Phil delicately.

“PJ? No, just mates,” said Dan. “But he was the first person who really understood. Who really accepted it.” He stirred his drink absently. “Even Gemma-- my ex,” he quickly added. “She never really believed me. I told myself it didn’t really matter. But…” he trailed off.

“How can it not matter when someone isn’t willing to accept you for who you really are?” said Phil softly, reaching a hand across the table and laying it on Dan’s briefly. “I’m sorry about that.”

Dan shrugged. “Anyhow,” he said, “there’s a reason I’m bringing it up now,” he said, getting more nervous. Phil had that eternally patient smile that, even after a few days, he recognized. He felt himself calm immediately. If Phil didn’t feel the same way… well, it would be all right. He would still have found a new friend.

 _And a hell of a drummer._ But while Dan was trying to find the right words, Phil didn’t seem to be having the same difficulties.

“I like you, Dan. I mean, I _really_ like you,” said Phil. “You can tell me anything. Well, pretty much anything. I don’t think I would take you being a cannibal really well,” he frowned to himself.

Dan was dumbfounded. “I just wanted to tell you I like you, too!” he said. “You stole my thunder, Phil.” A wide grin spread over his face and he picked up his cup to hide it. “I guess I’ll forgive you, over time.” He took a sip of the cold cocoa. “Unless _you’re_ a cannibal.”

“Reformed,” said Phil, straightfaced, before breaking into a huge smile. “I’m trying to be cool here and, as usual, failing utterly. Are you sure? It’s never really happened this way before. Nobody ever likes me back.”

“Everyone has terrible taste,” said Dan, his heart fluttering. “I don’t know what to tell you, Phil. I do.”

“But,” a shadow fell over Phil’s face. “You pushed me away before. You pulled back. So I thought, maybe…”

“My breakup. It wasn’t an easy one,” said Dan interrupted him, speaking carefully. “It’s taken a long time to get over.”

“Are you ready, then?” asked Phil with uncertainty. “I don’t want to get in the way. We could just stay friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend!” Dan said loudly. “Wait, I take that back. I want to be your friend and more. I’m ready, Phil, I swear.”

“I think it’s only fair to warn you, Dan. I told you before, no one’s ever liked me back,” said Phil, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t have _a lot_ of experience. A lot of experience in any way.“

“That doesn’t matter, Phil. That doesn’t matter at all. I have more than enough experience for both of us. Usually people don’t end up wanting me for me,” he looked down at his empty mug. “I’m tired of that. Tired of nights like that.” He was worried about how Phil would react to that, worried that he had scared him off.

He should have known better.

“Let’s take it slowly,” said Phil, reaching forward to touch his hand again. “There’s no hurry. We’ve only known each other for few days.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” said Dan, looking at Phil and taking his hand instead, holding it in his. The warmth of Phil’s hand felt like it was running through Dan’s body, touching something that had been dormant for months.

“Besides, I can’t fuck this up,” Dan said with a cheeky grin. “PJ would kill me.”

***

“Tell us what happened, Phil,” said PJ. “What did you do?” Both Dan and Phil stood completely still in the practice room. Phil, previously excited, was looking a little more uncertain.

“I got us a gig,” said Phil. “That’s the term, right? At the University of Manchester Faculty of Science and Engineering Christmas Party. They were looking for another band to play and I told them _I’m_ in a band. And, once they stopped laughing, they said we could play.” He frowned. “It took awhile for them to stop. I didn’t really get what was so funny about it.”

“Anyhow, they always have this big thing where they have a half a dozen groups come play at the Sackville Street Building and they serve cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Some of the groups are classical, some rock, and some just play Christmas carols. We’ve got one of the times,” Phil continued. “We’re playing whatever we want for a small set. Probably five songs or so.”

Dan and PJ just stared at him, completely dumbstruck.

“They’re even going to pay us. Not a lot, but some. And I figured it would be good experience either way. I told them we were more alternative and they said that was fine. Actually, they said it would be ‘ _different_ , but fine,’” He finally noticed his bandmates’ silence. “Are you guys okay?”

“When is it, Phil?” asked PJ. “You said a Christmas party.” Phil glanced over at Dan sitting at the keyboard. Dan hadn’t said anything yet.

“They have it a little earlier because a lot of the people go home for the holidays,” said Phil. “It’s on December 14th. It’s a Friday.”

“In less than three weeks?” said Dan finally, breaking his silence. “Less than three weeks?” He raised his voice. “Less than three weeks!?”

“Calm down, Dan, calm down. We all need to be calm,” said PJ pacing rapidly, his hair wild. “Let’s just all stay calm!”

“You stay calm!” said Dan. “Three weeks! We haven’t even played together yet! How many people come to this thing, Phil?”

Phil suddenly paled. “Well, it’s for the Faculty of Science and Engineering, but other people come to hear the bands as well. Alumni too, sometimes. And drinks are cheap. So, maybe… two hundred?”

PJ stopped in place and Dan stared at Phil in shock. “Two hundred?” Dan said, absolutely expressionless.

“Sometimes more,” said Phil, almost inaudibly. He had moved back towards the door. “I’m sorry, guys. Don’t be angry with me. I can cancel.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them forcefully, half turning towards the door. “I shouldn’t have done it without asking. I’m sorry I screwed it all up.”

“You _should_ have asked,” said PJ. “You’re not wrong about that.”

“Peej,” Dan objected, raising a hand.

PJ whipped around to face him. “I’m not going to lie to him just because you like him, Dan. This is a band decision and he shouldn’t have made it by himself.” He sighed. “It’s a lot. I’m going to put on the kettle and we’ll think this through. _As a band_.” Shaking his head, he walked out of the room.

They stood in the room in silence for a moment. “I really am sorry,” said Phil softly. “Should I go?”

“No!” said Dan abruptly. “Don’t go, Phil. I want you here.”

“But you look really…” said Phil tentatively.

“I’m just surprised and confused. And I can’t deny that asking would have been a good thing. But I’m not angry with you. I just can't figure out why you signed us up,” said Dan with a sigh. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no hurry. We just started last week.”

“I thought I could give your dream to you!” Phil blurted. “At least a chance to have it. And now I’ve screwed it all up!” He took off his glasses and swiped at his eyes.

“Oh, Phil,” said Dan, realizing. “Come here.” He walked over to Phil and pulled him by the hand over to the ancient overstuffed couch in the corner. He tossed the tangle of wires resting on it to the ground and sat down. He patted the cushion next to him. Phil sat down gingerly but Dan pulled him over, putting his arm around the black haired man’s shoulder. Phil turned his face into Dan’s chest, his eyes still shining.

“Shhh, Phil,” Dan said. “It’s okay. You wanted to do a really nice thing and you did. We’ll work it out with PJ.”

“It wasn’t nice,” said Phil, his voice muffled. “It was stupid.”

“Don’t insult the guy I like,” said Dan. “You have an amazing heart and it was absolutely in the right place.” He kissed Phil lightly on the temple, softly petting a few strands. “The brains, however…” He laughed as Phil mimed biting his shoulder. “We’ll work it out,” he repeated, continuing to stroke his hair.

“Okay,” said PJ walking into the room, his hands full of mugs. “What if we…” he paused, looking around. He spotted Dan and Phil cuddling on the couch. “...What did I miss?”

***

“So, we’re going to do it?” said PJ as soon as Phil left the room.

“I think so,” said Dan. Dan was still sat on the couch while PJ continued to pace.

“Is it because you want to or because of your feelings for Professor Weather?” whispered PJ.

“That has nothing to do with it, Peej.”

“Daniel,” said PJ warningly, walking towards Dan.

“Okay, it has something to do with it,” Dan capitulated. “But either way, we’re ready. We’ve been playing for years just to do something like this.”

“I thought maybe a small club with a few dozen people, not… two hundred!” said PJ, raising his voice.

“Shh, he’s peeing, not deaf,” said Dan. “And we’re ready. Aren’t you the one who used to spend time telling me that Buddy Rich quote?”

“No,” said PJ, shrugging. “Wasn’t me.”

“PJ!” cried Dan, raising his own voice. “You kept saying it! ‘You only get better by playing.’ Not practicing, but playing with a real band.”

“I was trying to use that as a metaphor for you getting a girlfriend,” muttered PJ.

“I guess that was a flop,” said Dan.

“I consider it still pretty successful,” said PJ, trying not to smile.

“Anyhow, we’re ready for this,” said Dan, ignoring him.

“Oh yeah, we just need to figure out, practice, and perfect five songs, and figure out outfits....” said PJ, counting on his fingers. He ran his fingers through his hair again.

“We don’t have to have outfits,” Dan interrupted. “We can just wear whatever.”

“A band look could make us more unified,” Phil added, coming into the room.

“Exactly my point,” said PJ, nodding at Phil. “I vote we figure out a look.”

“Me too,” said Phil, giving PJ a high five before settling back down on the couch next to Dan.

“Wait, I invited you to the band so I could _win_ ties, Phil,” pouted Dan.

“‘I guess that was a flop,’” quoted Phil, a sparkle in his eye.

“I don’t know, ‘I consider it still pretty successful,’” said PJ, laughing and winking a second time.

“Ugh,” said Dan, reddening. He shook a pillow threateningly at PJ. “I hate you both. You guys win. We’ll have to think of a look. And practice some songs together. I don’t think Phil’s even heard you play yet, Peej.”

“So we’re doing this?” asked Phil, beaming.

“Looks like it,” said PJ. “And how about a new name? PJ and the Band are ready to make their debut.”

“Vetoed!” retorted Dan, launching the pillow at his friend. “Absolutely vetoed!”  

***

“Two Christmas standards, two covers, and one original? You sure you can get it done in time, Howell?” asked PJ, frowning at the list in front of him.

“Have some faith, Peej. It’s almost done,” said Dan flippantly.

“You’ve been saying that for six months and I’ve never seen a note,” argued PJ.

“I haven’t got the keyboard solo right. We’ll practice it last,” said Dan. “Let’s iron out the other ones first. Figure how we’re going to make those Christmas songs sound like us.”

“What about choir robes?” said Phil, covering his smile. “Give us that hymn look.”

“No!” said Dan and PJ in unison.

***

 _“We will be victoooorious…”_ belted out PJ, as Phil pounded on the drums. Dan fingers raced up and down the keyboard keeping pace. He finished as PJ strummed the final chord. In the resonating sound that followed, there was a clatter as two drumsticks felt to the ground.

“Phil!” called out Dan in a high-pitched tone of exasperation, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“I really thought I had them that time!”

***

“Absolutely not,” said PJ. “We’re not wearing leather pants on stage.”

“Why not?” asked Dan. “It’s black, it’s classic…”

“Do you know how much you sweat just playing the keyboard, Dan?” said PJ. “Do you think the leather pants will help?”

“I like the idea,” said Phil with a cocked head and a cheeky grin. “But not for on stage.”

***

Dan crossed out a few more notes, leaning over the paper. He could hear the tune so well in his head. Getting it down was proving to be challenging. He sighed, frustrated. “This keyboard solo is going to kill me,” he muttered.

“You’ll get it,” Phil said quietly, walking up and setting down a cup of tea in front of Dan. He could feel Phil stroking a curl out of the way and planting a soft kiss on the top of his head.

“How’s it with you?” said Dan, raising his head. “I hope better than me.”

”Six papers on synoptically driven mesoscale phenomena marked. Twenty-three to go,” said Phil, returning to his seat at Dan’s small breakfast bar. “Two weeks left. If I can get these done, I’ll have more time to practice. _If_ I can get these done.”

“The wild and crazy life of being in a band,” said Dan sardonically, scribbling out another note.

***

“No way in hell, Professor Lester,” said PJ, frowning. “We’re not dressing as cats.”

“I think we’d stand out,” said Phil, touching the ears on his headband. “And it’s Teaching Assistant Lester to you.”

“Stand out as furries? No offense, Phil,” said Dan. “But did I miss the part where we turned into a K-pop group?”

“No,” said PJ firmly. “No, no, no.” He got up and walked away, still shaking his head. They could still hear muffled “No’s” from the other room.

“Keep the ears, though. They’re cute,” whispered Dan, poking Phil’s nose softly.

“I thought they made me look like I’m part of a K-pop group?” said Phil, sticking out his tongue. “Or a furry?”

“When have either of those ever been a bad thing?”

***

“How about _Feliz Navidad_?” asked PJ.

“You remember how much of that song is in Spanish, right?” frowned Dan. “Besides, I’m going to get it done in time. We only need two holiday songs, not three.”

“How about _Jingle Bell Rock?_ Or _Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree_?” suggested Phil.

“No!” said both Dan and Phil emphatically.

“Sorry,” said Phil, confused, holding up both his hands defensively.

“No, I’m sorry,” said Dan in the resulting silence. “It was my ex’s favourite Christmas song. You wouldn’t have any way of knowing that, Phil.” They all sat quietly for a minute.

“Suddenly _Feliz Navidad_ is sounding a lot better,” cajoled PJ with a winning smile.

“I’m going to get it done in time!” said Dan, exasperated.

***

Dan’s fingers danced on the keys, pressing them harder. He could hear PJ singing the lyrics as he chimed in, “ _But now I have some clarity to show you what I mean...”_ Phil pounded on the skins of the drum, not missing a beat. Dan could occasionally hear Phil singing along, his deeper voice adding to the tone of the two singers. “ _I’m breaaaaking the habit…”_

 _Who naturally sings in harmony?_ he shook his head in wonder. He watched Phil singing with enthusiasm, and then realized both of them were stopping and looking at him. _When did I stop playing?_ he wondered and then flushed red.

“Hey, heart eyes,” said PJ. “Are you ready to join the rest of the band? We have a week and a half left, Dan. We don’t have time for this. Same song, but let’s start it at the bridge.”

“Sorry,” muttered Dan. Phil’s eyes met his with a small smile. He winked at Dan and blew a kiss.

“You’re not helping,” shot Dan at him, grinning.

He could hear PJ grumbling from across the room: “Linkin Park didn’t have to put up with this shit.”

***

“I like it,” said PJ, examining his green tie. “This will work. I still think the gold shirts would have been pretty cool.”

“Black button-downs, black jeans, and coloured ties?” asked Phil, tying his bright blue tie. “We can at least add some Christmas lights or something to the drums. You look like you’re joining Green Day, Dan.”

Dan straightened his red tie. “Just missing the eyeliner. Anyway, I thought the blue would match your eyes, Phil. You look like a weather forecaster.”

They both grinned stupidly at each other, ignoring the faint sounds of fake retching coming from lead guitar’s corner.

***

“I’m not going to finish this bullshit,” said Dan, throwing his pen to the side. “Fuck it. I don’t even care. We can just do another stupid Christmas standard. _Feliz Navi-_ fucking- _dad_.” He threw his notebook and slumped on the couch. “And I hate this couch and its stupid flowers. Hate this whole fucking flat.”

“We still have a week left,” said Phil, sliding off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I’m finally done my marking. Why can’t I help you?”

“I should be able to do it alone,” mumbled Dan, feeling stubborn.

Phil got up, picked up Dan’s notebook from the ground, and slid next to him on the couch.

“I thought the whole point was that neither of us are alone now,” he whispered, kissing Dan’s cheek softly and picking up the discarded pencil.

***

“Okay, I think we might be finally ready,” said PJ. “No thanks to you two lovebirds. Believe it or not,” he said grudgingly. “We sound good.”

“Whoa, a glowing review from PJ? Did you hear that Phil?” Dan said, crumpling up a sheet of music and throwing it at PJ. "We can die now."

“I’m just glad you finished _most_ of your song.” PJ said pointedly. He set his guitar in the stand. “Well, I promised Sophie we would watch a movie and make some real food tonight. Nothing band-related.”

“Have a good one, Peej. Just remember, in just two days, two hundred people are going to get to hear the beauty of your voice,” replied Dan, turning off his Yamaha.

“Lucky them,” said PJ, leaving the room. Dan laughed.

“Can you believe that guy?” Dan turned to Phil. He stopped laughing abruptly. Phil was sitting there, paler than usual, clutching his drumsticks. “Phil, what’s wrong? You’re holding your sticks.”

“You told me to stop throwing them,” said Phil in a whisper.

“And you never listen, you spork,” said Dan in a fond voice. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re going to play in front of two hundred people. My colleagues,” breathed out Phil. “In two days. Two hundred people.” He looked at Dan with panicked eyes. “What was I thinking?“

“Do you want me to…” Dan said, realizing something important. “Do they know you… are you out to them? The people at the University of Manchester. I don’t know if you want me to act like… I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Phil distractedly, pacing behind the drum set in the small confines of the room. “Like I’d be ashamed to admit you’re my boyfriend. That’s the least of my worries.”

“Boyfriend?” asked Dan, a stupid grin spreading on his face.

Phil froze in his pacing. “Is that not okay? We never talked about-”

“Boyfriends,” Dan interrupted, kissing him briefly on the cheek. “Tell me what you’re worried about, my boyfriend.”

“I’ve never played in front of anyone,” said Phil, flushing slightly.

“You drum all the time,” said Dan, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, and people tell me to shut up!” said Phil, his voice rising in pitch. “I don’t know if I can do this, Dan.”

“Shh, Phil,” said Dan soothingly, getting up and hugging Phil from behind. He wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Phil’s torso trembling and he smoothed the material of Phil’s jumper. “It’ll be okay. They’ll love you.”

“What if they don’t?” Phil asked plaintively. They stood there for a moment, Dan wrapped around Phil’s shoulders.

“Okay,” said Dan, letting him go. “That’s it. Grab your coat and gloves. We’ve got to stop at mine but I’ve got our plans for the evening set, boyfriend of mine.”

***

“Two buckets, three sets of drumsticks, and a mysterious big rucksack?” asked Phil. “I’m a little concerned about where this night is going, Dan.”

“Well, Phil, you’re worried about playing in front of an audience. Time to do just that,” said Dan. “Wait,” he said, waving his free hand. “I need one more thing.”

“What?” asked Phil. Dan grabbed his free hand and held it.

“There we go. I’ve got everything I need,” said Dan, pulling Phil’s hand up to his mouth and kissing it softly. “Trust me, Phil. Trust me.”

“I trust you,” said Phil. “Really, I do trust you, Dan. I’m just scared.” He tightened his grip around Dan’s warm hand, but allowed himself to be pulled out the door. “Buckets? What are we, in _Rent_? Why six drumsticks?” he asked.

“I figure you’ll throw at least four of them,” replied Dan as he locked the door.

***

“Albert Square?”

“Well, near Albert Square. Lots of crowds from the Christmas market even on a Wednesday,” Dan said. He watched as Phil visibly tensed. “I’ll be with you here, Phil. Don’t worry, okay? I even brought things to decorate.” He and Phil continued down the busy street.

“Lights?” Phil said, perking up.

“Phil, where would I get a plug for lights?” said Dan, shaking his head in mock annoyance.

“I wasn’t thinking, sorry,” said Phil, stumbling on the uneven pavement.

Dan reached out a hand to steady him. “That’s why I had to buy ones with a battery.”

***

They set up on a corner. Phil’s red bucket was upside down and lit with a set of fairy lights. He was holding one of the pairs of drumsticks and was sitting on a second bucket. Dan had set up his old Casio organ next to Phil’s buckets. It had been his very first keyboard that his Grandmother had bought him when he was 14. It ran on batteries, but would be loud enough even on the bustling street. He grimaced at the itchiness of the garland wrapped around his neck. Phil had insisted so they would be more “festive _._ ” They had a small box set out in front.

“But we don’t even want the change,” Phil objected. “Isn’t this just to practice?”

“You’ve got to let people show their appreciation, Phil,” said Dan. “Someone threw a pound at me once when I didn’t have a proper receptacle. Almost took my eye out.”

“You sure they _liked_ your music?” asked Phil, laughing and sticking out his tongue. Dan let his hands fall and make a discordant jumble of notes. Phil laughed.

“Okay, _Sleigh Ride_ in G major,” said Dan.

“You can say G major all you want,” replied Phil. “I’m playing in bucket minor. Okay,” Dan could hear Phil’s deep intake of breath. “I can do this. I can do this.”

“You _can_ do this,” said Dan. “Count us in.” Phil started keeping the beat on the drums, lively and bright in the crowds walking to and from the busy market. A few people stopped and stared as Dan joined in, his Casio playing the familiar tune. As the intro finished, Dan started to sing, “ _Just hear those sleigh bells jing-a-ling ring ring ring-a-ling, too…”_ He could hear Phil hesitantly chime in for the next line. _“Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.”_

By the end of the tune, Dan was really getting into it, improvising on his old keyboard while Phil was a blur on the drums, carelessly endangering the plastic bucket with his speed. The wandering shoppers nearby were smiling and singing along. As they finished the song, several of them came up and tossed change in the open box. Dan and Phil thanked them and wished them all a Merry Christmas.

“That was really fun!” said Phil, flushed and excited. “Can we do it again? How about _Jingle Bell Rock_?”

“Absolutely,” Dan grinned. “As much as you want. _Jingle Bell Rock_ on three -- hold onto your sticks, mate.” They swung into the tune easily, eliciting some murmurs of recognition and delight from the market folk who sang along with the lyrics. _Mean Girls did wonders for the popularity of this song_ , thought Dan, watching Phil play.

***

“Take a break, Phil,” said Dan, laughing. “We’ve been playing for over an hour. The market’s still open for another hour and a half. Aren’t you cold?”

“No, but I’m glad I wore my gloves,” said Phil, a smile stretching across his face. “My hands are a little chilly, but I’ve been having such an amazing time I forgot all about them.”

“Chilly Philly, huh? Okay, I’m taking this off,” Dan said, pulling the garland off his neck. “I promise I’ll be festive with mistletoe later instead. Why don’t you go grab us two of your ridiculously festive and sugary drinks and we’ll warm up?” Dan suggested, grabbing a fistful of coins out of the box. “I’ll watch your buckets and all of your drumsticks.”

“Did you see me almost catch then?” Phil asked, standing up and stretching. He turned to see Dan’s admiring gaze and smiled. “Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”

“You choose,” said Dan. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” said Phil archly. “Careful what you’re promising me, Dan.”

“More than a promise,” replied Dan. “A guarantee.”

Phil laughed delightedly and turned, wandering off into the crowd of shoppers. Dan watched him walking through the crowd and smiled as he saw Phil bump into two of the people and apologize. _I am falling hard_ , he thought. _And I have no regrets about it whatsoever._

***

Along the streets, the shops were decorated with festive windows and fairy lights. Without the music, Dan could hear the excitement and chatter of the holiday crowd coming and going from the market. However, in his head, the faint strains of a melody still echoed. Dan fiddled with his keyboard for a moment, still trying to figure out the fingerings for the solo in his song. _Still not quite right_ , he thought. _Another time_.

Dan checked Phil’s decorated bucket, surprised that the lanky man hadn’t cracked it or broken the lights with his vigorous drumming. He walked back behind the keyboard and leaned over, looking in the rucksack for spare batteries. _My old Casio eats these up like a mofo,_ he thought. _Better change them up just in case. Especially if Phil wants to play until 9._

“Excuse me?” Dan could hear the clink of a coin in the box. “Do you know _Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree?”_ Dan froze, the batteries tumbling out of his hands onto the slushy ground. He turned slowly, standing up. There she stood, wearing an ivory knee-length coat, a pink bobble hat, and a matching pink scarf. Her hair was a natural dark brown instead of pink. But her eyes were still the colour of caramel.

Gemma.

***

“So, how have you been?” she asked, fiddling with the fringed ends of her scarf.

“I’ve been good,” said Dan, surprised to realize he was telling the truth. “You grew out your hair.”

“Yeah,” she said self-consciously, touching the ends of her hair. “The pink didn’t really work well for the office I’m working in.”

“Congrats,” Dan said. “I knew you were looking for a position.”

“You did?” she asked, surprised.

“Sophie,” he said by way of explanation. Sophie and Gemma had remained friends, even after Dan and her break up. Sophie had never told him a lot about Gemma’s life, only looking at him with pitying eyes when he tried to oh-so-casually find out information in the weeks after their break up. But this was one of the few tidbits she had let drop.

“Well, I’m loving it so far,” she said. “Life is good. What have you been up to? Still working at Starbucks?” Dan watched her, her mocha-brown skin flushed under the lights in the market. He waited for all of those feelings to bubble up. How resentful he felt, how angry, how _obsessed_.

But, instead, he felt nothing.

“Life _is_ good,” he said agreeably smiling at her. “Yeah, I’m still working at Starbucks. It’s fine. Pays the bills. But yeah, things are going.”

“I’m, uh, I’m dating a guy,” she said, “I didn’t know if I should tell you. Sophie said I shouldn’t … our break-up wasn’t the easiest. But I thought you should know.”

“Good,” said Dan honestly. “I hope he makes you happy, Gem. I really do.” And Dan meant it. He truly hoped that Gemma would find that quiet, successful family life she had dreamed of.

The life that Dan never could have provided. Or even wanted.

“Thanks,” she said. Dan could tell by her tone of voice that she didn’t completely believe him.

“What’s this piece of junk doing here?” she asked, changing the subject by poking the Casio’s rickety stand. “Tell me you didn’t break the Yamaha.”

“She’s at home,” said Dan. “I wouldn’t risk her out here in the cold.” He had thought about giving the expensive instrument back after the break up, but it would have been too hard. He had already been losing enough. Either way, she had insisted that it was a gift.

“Where is PJ, anyhow?” she said, looking around. “Is he pissed you’re making him play the drums? And a bucket at that?”

“PJ?” asked Dan, confused.

“I heard you guys playing from the market,” she said, gesturing to the bucket. “I’ve never heard him sound so good. He must have been practicing. He sounds better than I ever did, even on a bucket.”

“No, it wasn’t PJ,” said Dan. “It was, uh…”

“I found a short line,” came Phil’s voice from the crowd. Dan could see him towering over the shoppers balancing two large cardboard cups. “They must have known it was for the barista king.” He stepped through the crowd over to Dan and Gemma, handing Dan a cup. “Oh, hello, I’m Phil.” He switched his cup to his other hand and reached out to offer a handshake.

“Hello,” Gemma shook it, surprised. “I’m Gemma.”

“Gemma?” said Phil, his eyebrows raising. “Oh.”

“I guess my reputation precedes me,” said Gemma, with a tight smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Phil. Dan and I were just catching up.”

“I would have bought another one,” said Phil, pointing at the drink. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” said Gemma. “Gingerbread?” she said, reading the side of Dan’s cup. “I’m surprised that you got him to drink something so sweet. He usually doesn’t drink coffee that much.”

Dan took a quick sip of the sweet drink, scalding his tongue. “Things change, Gemma. It’s delicious, Phil. Really. It’ll warm us right up,” He smiled reassuringly to Phil and touched his shoulder. He could feel Gemma’s eyes focus on his hand. Her eyes narrowed.

“Ready to start playing again?” asked Dan, almost desperately. He immediately wanted to apologize to Phil. To kiss the worry off his face.

“You guys are sounding great. I was just telling Dan my replacement drummer was really good,” continued Gemma, gesturing towards the bucket. “Right? Hey, remember that time the Manchester police stopped us when we were busking, Dan? They said that we were such a cute couple that they would let us go with a warning. Is that the exact same bucket, Dan?”

“That… that was nice of them. I saw a place with some Christmas doughnuts,” said Phil, glancing at Gemma. “I think I’ll go pick one up. Do either of you want one?” he asked politely. Both of them shook their heads. “I’ll be back in a minute, Dan. It was really nice to meet you, Gemma.” Phil stumbled off into the crowd again.

“Look at the nice Northern boy excusing himself,” Gemma acidly. “Someone taught him manners.”

“Stop it, Gemma,” said Dan, no amusement in his voice.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Dan. Are you two-” she started.

“Friends?” Dan interrupted. “Dating? Yes. Both. And he _is_ nice.”

“Nicer than me,” she said sharply.

“I didn’t say that,” he said, sighing.

“You didn’t have to,” she replied. “And it’s going well?”

“Very,” said Dan shortly. This was typical Gemma. Taking a situation that had nothing to do with her and trying to make it all about her. But it wasn’t really Dan’s problem anymore if Gemma didn’t feel comfortable with his sexuality. They just both stood there in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry; I’m fucking this up, Dan,” she said. “I don’t know what to say about this.“

“You don’t have to say anything about it at all. It has nothing to do with you. I just wish you and I…” he paused, unable to think of how to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” she said, twisting the strings of her scarf again. “Yes, me too. I really am glad for you. Dan. It’s just not easy to see you like this.”

“What, happy?” said Dan, without thinking. She stared at him for a second in shock and then laughed.

”Someone else’s,” she said finally. "It's just hard."

“Merry Christmas, Gemma," Dan softly, but firmly. "To both you and your boyfriend.”

“Merry Christmas, Dan. You, too.” Gemma gave him a quick, hard hug and he watched her walk away, blending in with the crowd until she disappeared from his gaze.

He could sense Phil beside him before he could see him. “I feel so good about every choice I’ve made in the last month, Phil,” Dan said softly, not turning around. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so happy. And it’s all from you. Your smile, your laugh, the music we make together. And how you make me feel. Both about myself and about you. The only downside is worrying that I might fuck it up and lose it. Like right now.”

“You couldn’t. You didn’t,” said Phil. “And I feel the same way.” Dan turned around and Phil hugged him. Dan felt Phil in his arms and it just felt so right.

“Seeing her like that,” Phil whispered. “Did you wish-”

“No,” said Dan, emphatically. “No. Not for a second. Her life isn’t my life anymore.”

“That’s good,” Phil whispered, nestling his head in Dan’s shoulder, ignoring the crowd of tourists and shoppers streaming past them. “Because your life is with me.”

“Fucking right,” said Dan, kissing him briefly on the forehead, his lips barely brushing Phil’s skin. He wanted to kiss him more deeply, press his lips on Phil and never let go. To let the world disappear into the soft, insisting world of Phil's lips.

But there were the crowds to think of and Gemma’s influence on both of their minds right now. He didn’t want their first real and true kiss tainted by what had come before it. He kissed Phil again, this time on the cheek and let him go, taking pleasure in watching his boyfriend flush slightly. He returned to his keyboard, leaning down to pick up the fallen batteries. “Now, what song do you want to play? Anything. It’s your pick.”

“How about _Feliz Navidad?_ ” asked Phil with a sly grin, settling himself on his bucket.

“You’ve been spending too much time with PJ, you troll,” said Dan, shaking his head. “All right, _Feliz Navidad_ on three. Let’s offend some shoppers.”

***

“They’re good,” said PJ, sipping his drink. “Really good. I hate them.” He adjusted his tie nervously, wincing.

“I think it’s nice that people still play classical,” said Dan, eyeing the piano player.“She’s talented. All right, Phil?”

“Yes, just nervous,” said Phil, looking around the room.

“This place is amazing,” said Dan. The enormous room had a black and white checked floor, with trees with white lights in most corners. The ceilings must have been almost twenty feet tall and brown pillars were spaced around the room with fairy lights wrapped around them. “French Renaissance, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” said Phil. “The trees are pretty. We’re up next.”

“I know, Phil. You’ve told us three times. We’re ready,” said Dan, belying his casual tone by taking a large gulp of white wine. “Our first gig.”

“Speaking of first gigs, one of the other teaching assistants I work with was looking for a band for his wedding party this summer,” said Phil. “He’s in the audience tonight. I said I’d have to discuss it with my band,” he said defensively off PJ’s glare. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Good, there wasn’t enough pressure tonight,” said PJ, his finger rubbing his temple.

‘I’m just glad I finished my song,” said Dan.

“ _You’re_ glad?” moaned PJ. “I was having bad dreams about it for the last week. You figured out the keyboard solo, then?”

Dan smiled at Phil. “I fixed it in the best way possible,” he said. “I made it a drum solo. Merry Christmas, Phil.” Phil’s eyes widened and then his face broke into a grin.

“The one we practiced? Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive,” said Dan. “And I put an extra pair of drumsticks in the bass drum. Go wild, Phil.” The quartet finished their song on stage with a flourish.

“It’s time,” said PJ, mounting the steps near the stage that had been set up.

“Hold on one second, Dan,” said Phil, grabbing his arm. Dan looked at PJ setting up his amplifier as the classical quartet bowed to applause from the massive audience.

“We should help him out,” said Dan, pulling towards the stage. Phil didn’t let go.

“Will you move in with me?” asked Phil, words spilling out of his mouth. “It can be your place. Or my place. Or we can get a brand new flat together. And I know it’s short notice. And we said we were going to move slowly. We don’t have to right away. And if you don’t want to at all, we don’t have-”

“Yes,” said Dan, interrupting him and kissing him gently on the lips. He could Phil relax as he sank into the kiss and returned it fully, his warm mouth a promise for another time. Dan then kissed him a second time briefly, as if to claim him. “I’m yours for as long as you want me, Phil. Now let’s go rock this bitch.”

***

Four songs in. The crowd was cheering and yelling, delighted by the less stuffy music Tandem was playing. It wasn’t just the alcohol, Dan hoped. PJ had planned the set well, with a Christmas song and then a crowd pleaser. The mix of students, professors, and other people from the University of Guelph had loved their covers. The crowd danced, sang along, screamed, and cheered. It was exhilarating and everything Dan had ever dreamed of. At one point, PJ had finished a solo and Dan was blown away by the excitement and fulfillment he had seen in his best friend’s eyes as Sophie cheered him on from the crowd.

And Phil.

Phil.

The sedate teaching assistant was a dervish on the drums, playing along to every note and singing harmony with every beat. He had already riled up the crowd by shaking his drumsticks in the air, ripping off and throwing his tie, and by getting them all to clap along. He was a rock star.

“We’re Tandem, and you guys have been an amazing audience,” said PJ into the mic. “Shoutout to our drummer and meteorology teaching assistant, Phil.” Phil stood and the crowd of academics cheered. “And, of course, our resident drop out, Daniel.” Dan glared at PJ and laughed as the students cheered even louder. “I’m PJ and this is our last song, an original by Dan called _Moving On_. Thanks again and Merry Christmas, University of Manchester!”

The crowd went crazy for a moment, and then were slowly silenced by the first soft notes of Dan’s keyboard, playing a gentle melody that echoed through the large room. PJ came in on guitar, playing quietly at first, then insistently louder and faster. Then came the drums, Phil tapping a simple pattern softly on the snare before adding in louder and more detailed rolls.

“ _I might not be moving forward,”_ sang Dan, gently. _“As fast as you want me to. But don’t say I’m not moving because I know that can’t be true...”_ The beat sped up; Dan’s heart echoing Phil’s thrumming on the drums.

PJ and Phil joined in for the chorus, their lower voices harmonizing with Dan’s, _“Really I’m mo-o-o-oving on. It might not be forward, but I’m not done. Before all of this is through, I know I can be happy and I hope that you are, too.”_

After the second verse, the intensity of the song increased even more. Dan played up to the intro for the solo and smiled as Phil threw himself it, as he threw himself into everything. The teaching assistant was a blur, almost indistinct in the glowing coloured fairy lights around the room as he pounded on the snares and bass drum until finally, he threw his sticks into the air to the screaming of the crowd. There was a small almost-inaudible clatter and then Dan watched as Phil turned to him, elated, holding one stick. “I caught it!” mouthed Phil excitedly while pulling out a second drumstick. Still playing, Dan shot a huge grin at him as Phil resumed drumming into the third verse.

After the key change, the music reached a zenith, the crowd swaying in the beat until the drums and guitar ended in a sudden crescendo, the room falling into a sudden hush.

Dan’s piano continue alone again, filling the silenced hall with its soft melody repeating the theme from the beginning of the song. “ _I know that I am happy,”_ Dan sang slowly, exchanging a promise-filled glance with Phil, his blue eyes seeming to almost overflow with contentment. Phil’s mouth curved into a soft smile. _“And I hope that you are, too.”_


End file.
